Domestic Bliss
by junejuly15
Summary: Johnlock. Sequel to my stories ICEMAN and SHERLOCK AND JOHN. Love and domestic bliss at 221B Baker Street, and Anderson is finally stunned into silence.. Dialogue/Humour/Romance


**This is the sequel to my stories **_**Iceman**_** and **_**Sherlock and John**_**. It's the last part because I feel they have reached a point where they can be left safely alone (for the time being, at least) :-)**

** Enjoy reading! **

**Obviously I don't own anything…**

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><p><strong>Domestic Bliss<strong>

'No!' John said.

'No, be careful!'

'Yes.'

'That's not how it's done, Sherlock. I told you.'

'Yes.'

'Sherlock, are you listening to me? That's not how it's done!' John was exasperated now.

'So what?' Sherlock replied, ignoring John.

'It might break, then you you've got the egg yolk all over the white and it's going to be disgusting!'

Sherlock continued to ignore him and went on fiddling with the eggs, the pan and other ingredients he had amassed next to the cooker. It smelt burnt and the kitchen was beginning to get smoky.

'Everything alright, boys?' Mrs Hudson shouted from downstairs. 'There's smoke in the hall and it smells burnt!'

'Everything's under control. Don't you worry, Mrs Hudson,' Sherlock shouted back, his voice full of confidence.

John realized that it hadn't been a terribly good idea to let Sherlock prepare the breakfast. But they had agreed that Sherlock should give it a go and Sherlock could be very persuasive if his mind was set on something. He wanted to improve or refine some of his more mundane skills, he'd explained. Apparently he had even started to pump the people in their personal surroundings for information.

'Mrs Hudson proved to be an invaluable source in the household department,' he had proudly announced.

John couldn't believe from what he now saw in their kitchen that their conversations had ever touched on the minefield of cooking.

The problem probably wasn't that Sherlock didn't have a talent for frying eggs, but that he was rather stubborn about it. He wanted, as usual, to do it his own way.

'You know, John, the eggs aren't terribly burnt. I think we should give it try!' Sherlock turned around with the frying pan in his hands, rather proud of himself. He put it on the table in front of John.

John looked at the sad black remnants and sighed. It was no use, though; he would have to try them at least. Sherlock could get into a huff when his well-meant efforts weren't appreciated. He was like a little child sometimes, John thought, and not for the first time. He steeled himself and took some.

'Lovely,' John said with his mouth full, quickly washing it down with tea that was too milky and too sweet. Sherlock beamed.

'It's going to be a proper roast next time. Mrs Hudson gave me a wonderful recipe.'

Apparently the look of alarm on John's face had been too obvious, so Sherlock giggled and said 'Don't worry. I'm not overly keen on that either.'

Sherlock got up and walked around the table to John. He kissed him on the cheek and when John turned to face him, Sherlock kissed him properly. Sherlock tasted of sweet tea and smelt like a wood fire. But there was another scent underlying it all; that of a chip shop.

'You smell like you fried chips all morning. I think we need to get that smell out of your clothes and hair before we can go out and meet Lestrade. What do you say, why don't we skip breakfast?' John kissed Sherlock again.

'Shower?' he asked and Sherlock smirked.

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><p>One hour later they were finally on the way to their appointment with Lestrade. They walked up Carson Road, when Sherlock said, 'Whatever I do, just go with it. Will you do that for me, John?'<p>

'What are you talking about? I'd rather know what you are up to.'

'Just trust me.'

John wanted to trust Sherlock very much, but he felt distinctly uneasy.

They entered the old semi in 47 Carson Road, West Dulwich, the address Lestrade had summoned them to. A mysterious case, the second body in five days, the same circumstances, apparently the same modus operandi and no clues so far.

Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were already there, among others.

'Just the people we needed,' Sherlock mumbled.

John didn't catch it 'Sorry?'

'Nothing.'

Sherlock and John greeted Lestrade with a nod. Sherlock studiously ignored Anderson, greeted the female officer 'Donovan!' and got the expected greeting 'Freak!' in reply.

Lestrade showed Sherlock and John into the gloomy living room where the body lay sprawled on the sofa. There wasn't very much blood, just around the wounds that were clearly visible

'Glad you could come.' Lestrade pointed at the body. 'Young male, in his twenties. Numerous stab wounds in the back and front. Two front teeth are missing, ripped out apparently.'

'Interesting,' Sherlock murmured, moving closer to the corpse. He watched closely for a second, then he declared, 'Anderson, go fetch me a small torch, I need to examine the mouth.'

Exasperated Anderson turned to Lestrade 'I'm not his bloody maid. I don't…,' but Lestrade cut him short with a quick shake of the head. Grudgingly Anderson went to fetch the wished item.

A shout from the front room summoned Lestrade and Donovan seconds later and they left the room as well.

'Did you forget your torch? You usually have one,' John was curious. Sherlock wouldn't normally forget anything connected to work.

'No, no. It's here in my pocket,' Sherlock replied absentmindedly. John raised an eyebrow, wondering what Sherlock was up to.

Lestrade came back and positioned himself near the corpse. Sherlock got up and motioned John to step a few feet aside with him. They waited in silence. Lestrade curious, John anxious.

When Anderson and Donovan finally came back into the room, Sherlock grabbed John's head, pulled him close and started kissing him passionately and thoroughly and despite the initial shock of having an audience and being next to a corpse John couldn't help himself and leaned into Sherlock's forceful kiss.

This little performance was met with utter and stunned silence.

Anderson looked as if his eyes would leave his skull. He turned ashen and then flushed crimson. Donovan looked enraged and somewhat indignant, her mouth pinched. Lestrade was simply smirking.

Sherlock watched their reactions from the corners of his eyes. Apparently satisfied he broke off from John not without giving him one last heartfelt kiss. John panted, trying to catch his breath. He glowered at Sherlock, but he didn't notice.

Sherlock studied Anderson and smugly said 'Anderson, old friend. Thanks for the torch.' He walked nonchalantly over to him and took the torch out his motionless hands. 'Now, Anderson. This body. Tell me about your meagre results so far.'

But Anderson couldn't, he had literally lost his speech and slowly backed out the room before he turned and fled. Sherlock turned his gaze on Lestrade and, feigning ignorance, said to the inspector who was still smirking 'What's gotten into him?'

'Beats me,' Lestrade gleefully said.

* * *

><p>'You could've at least warned me, Sherlock,' John was angry with him and didn't hide it. They had just left the crime scene. John had kept up an angry silence there, barely uttering a word as long as they had been with Lestrade and the others.<p>

'Didn't you enjoy it?' Sherlock silently chuckled as if he was reliving the whole scene.

'Enjoy? What? That you chose to show the whole world that we are lovers without talking to me beforehand?' John huffed. 'No, I didn't enjoy that.'

'Why? What's bothering you? Do you really care so much what others think?' Sherlock snorted derisively. John looked away. 'Or are you ashamed? Of us?'

'Of course not,' John's was quick to respond, his voice growing softer again. 'Of course, I'm not ashamed. How could I be? It's just that I'm not used to it. It's all so new to me. Don't forget I've never been with a man before you.'

'Neither have I,' Sherlock said stating the obvious.

'Well, yes. You know what I mean. It's so different to what I used to be.'

He was lost in thought for a moment, but then the anger he had felt earlier at the crime scene came back to him.

'Do you want to know what really bothers me, Sherlock? That you used me as a prop in your petty little feud with Anderson. Totally ignoring that I might not want to be part of it. You can't treat people like that, you really can't. Oh, for God's sakes, I'm not Molly!' He was almost ranting now.

Sherlock seemed to consider John's outbreak. He frowned, pondering what he heard for a moment and then he innocently asked 'Not good?'

'Absolutely not good, Sherlock,' John answered, exhausted now.

'But I didn't mean to hurt you, John. I honestly thought you wouldn't mind.'

'Well, I did.'

'So I see,' Sherlock hesitated, I'm sorry, John. Forgive me.'

He was silent again for a moment, trying to find something to placate John's anger.

'But annoying people who are completely ignorant of anything resembling intelligence, is part of my character. I absolutely cannot abide stupidity and ignorance. There is something in me that simply cannot resist.'

'But you have to because that's what people are. Sometimes they are stupid or ignorant; sometimes they won't reach your standards. That's the way of the world. Just leave them be,' John opened his arms to underline his words.

Sherlock seemed to reflect what John had said, his face concentrated and serious, but then a grin lightened up his feline features.

'Did you see Anderson's face?'

John snorted, despite himself, 'I did. I think he won't be able to look you in the eyes for quite a while.'

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><p>When they reached Baker Street they had come to an agreement of sorts. John would be the one responsible for breakfast, cooked or not. Because frankly even the tea Sherlock made was undrinkable.<p>

Sherlock would try to refrain himself from infuriating Anderson. To reach an agreement here had been quite a struggle. Sherlock had actually argued that it was his God-given right to expose stupidity when he came across it and that Anderson really was an outstanding specimen (bless his arrogance, John had thought), so it would prove really hard for him to keep his side of the agreement.

When they opened the door to 221B Baker Street Mrs Hudson was actually waylaying them.

'Boys, I need a word! The mess you've made upstairs! The whole house smells like a smoking chamber.'

Despite the harsh words she couldn't help but smile. She remembered her recent conversations with Sherlock and assumed that this smell was the result of his efforts.

'Sorry, Mrs Hudson.' Sherlock walked up to her and kissed her soundly on the cheek. 'Won't happen again. John is going to take over. No more egg disasters!' John smiled.

'Glad to hear that, boys!'

She winked at them, a recently acquired habit that was quite inexplicable to John, but not to Sherlock who remembered the conversation he had with her in the hall after he and John had spent their first night together.

Mrs Hudson left them to it and John and Sherlock walked up to their flat, which was still in the state they had left it this morning. John sighed at the sight of it..

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><p>'John,' Sherlock moaned, his whole body shuddering with pleasure when he came. John looked at him, quite indescribably happy to be able to do that to him.<p>

Sherlock was lying there on the bed, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. His eyes were closed, his beautiful face in a state of utmost relaxation. His body glowing and limp now.

John lay down next to him, studying him, softly caressing Sherlock's chest and arms. Without thinking he said, 'I love you.'

Sherlock's eyes flew open, his whole body went rigid and he sat up on the bed. 'What's wrong?' John asked; a feeling very close to panic fluttering in his stomach. He knew immediately that it had been a mistake.

'Why did you say that?' Sherlock demanded in a voice John had never heard before.

'Because that's what I feel. It's the feelings that are in my heart. I just had to.'

'But how can you?'

'What?'

'Love me. How can you?'

John didn't understand, 'What do you mean Sherlock, tell me.'

'After what I did to you this afternoon … you were so enraged. I humiliated you in front of others.'

John's heart clenched 'But that was just a minor incident. We talked about it. I don't hold it against you. It didn't change anything. How can you even think that?'

'I just assumed…'

'Well, don't,' John sounded firm which surprised Sherlock.

'It's not only that,' Sherlock felt the need to explain, 'Compared to you I'm so defective. I mean, everyday life is quite … there are so many things, normal things that I'm not good at. With people, for instance, I don't know how to do small talk, I'm simply not interested. Being polite is a concept I don't understand.' He couldn't be stopped now. 'I'm an awful cook, I can't keep a room tidy … Most of the time I'm occupied with cases or other things. I torture you with my violin practice … '

'Don't forget you're stubborn, arrogant, a smartass,' John added and Sherlock huffed. John continued 'You're also incredibly clever, smart, quick, beautiful. And so sexy,' Sherlock pretended to look flabbergasted. 'Your body is driving me mad with desire every time I see you…'

Sherlock leaned back on the bed. 'Is it?'

'You know that it is.' And John bent down to kiss him.

Only later John realized that Sherlock had in fact not reciprocated his declaration of love. He thought about that fact with Sherlock sleeping in his arms, his face nuzzling up to his neck. He didn't quite know what to make of it, but he decided to put it down to Sherlock's emotional clumsiness. John stayed awake, musing and absentmindedly caressing Sherlock's body. John's tender caressing finally made him stir.

'Love you, John,' he muttered sleepily and this simple sentence made John cry.

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><p><strong>AN** Update Feb 25: I couldn't leave them alone:-) So there is one follow-up story: Jealous Guy.


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